Wednesday, June 28, 2006

If I had to do a seven deadly sins checklist for this tour, I would've been doing fine. I would've been up in heaven playing canasta with Jesus, flirting with Mother Theresa, and high-fiving God like the ending of Tango & Cash. At least, I would've been fine until North Carolina. We stayed at Dave's pappy's house in Raleigh, where I spent two days being the poster boy for sloth and gluttony and the lesser known eight cardinal vice: unadulterated uselessness. But we needed it. We needed vegitables that hadn't spent three years in a dented can, a bed free of spine-gouging springs, and thirty hours free of the Whaleship Essex. It was glorious. And free. Which are a fantastic couple. Like raspberries and dark chocolate. Who, really, can say anything against hedonism? And if this means I'l be spending eternity listening to 98 Degrees with Lizzy Borden, well, that's just the way the cookie crumbles. At least it was a delicious cookie.

We fled this leisurely paradise this morning in order to play in Norfolk, Virginia, which we can call ol' Virginny, if only to quote the Band for the second time in as many weeks. We played at a record store slash venue slash cafe slash internet hub called Relativity Records for a nice handful of shoppers who, when we started did in fact quit browsing, bob around and, dare I say, dance. I like folks who dance, regardless of whether they should be. Like, for instance, I really should never try. I have three moves: the matador stomp, the clap-thing, and...ok. Perhaps I have two. The point (if indeed there is one): rug cutting is good. Not a controversial statement, but, come on, I spent two days eating chicken, reading Michael Malone, and playing pool. You gotta allow for a tangent or five.

And you know what? It was a great show. Sure, my bass made that crackly, death rattle sound that makes me want to euthanize it, but CR from the Talk gifted me his, which I didn't slam the tamborine on (to his pleasure I'm sure) or drop or abuse in any real way. We're trying to get to Baltimore early to remedy that annoyance and I pray we can. I mean, there are only three more shows. It must be cosmic punishment for deeds enumerated in paragraph one. God's playing dirty. No more tithes for you, sassafras.

Tomorrow: Maryland. Then the big city. I guess, in reality: The Big City. It's been a while for me. Last time I was in New York I demonstrated an incompetence so startling on those rowboats in Central Park that small children pointed and guffawed. And I do not use that word lightly.

also, if you don't already have it on your itinerary, add the Doughnut Plant. i'm serious. i usually cannot drag myself out of bed before 9am, but those little cakey fuckers go FAST, so you should get there early. it will be totally worth it. in fact, if you don't go, i'll curse you.

Justin, you should ALWAYS dance. Your matador stomp accented with a brisk double-clap and finished with a quick floor dip/snap up is nothing short of miraculous. It's actually the best dancing i've ever seen.